


Hello, Old Friend

by Dragonmaster



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonmaster/pseuds/Dragonmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spinoff of Tonko's "Grand Line Weyr" stories.  Ace drags Smoker to a Gather... where Smoker has an unexpected encounter with an old friend that brings back unwanted memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tonko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonko/gifts).



> A fanfic of a fanfic, how sad am I? XD No, really, I read and loved Tonko's "Grand Line Weyr" stories, and then got hit with an idea for another character's role in that crossover AU. Warning for angst and sadness, as well as mercilessly picking on a favorite character...

Smoker really didn’t want to be here. He had a stack of work waiting to be completed back at the Weyr, and the idea of frittering a day – and precious marks – away at some far-flung location really didn’t appeal to him. If he had to spend a rest day away from his desk, he would rather spend it at the fishing lake he and Ace had begun to think of as theirs, or perhaps simply unwinding on the beach. Not surrounded by noise and chatter and the press of bodies and the constant braying of craftsmen hawking their wares in his ears.

But Ace had been looking forward to the Dressrosa Gather for some time, and he had pestered Smoker into going with him. It wouldn’t be the same without him, he whined; they could loaf on the beach or go fishing any day, Gathers didn’t happen very often. And if Smoker didn’t get the stick out of his ass and go with him, he was going to have Merath pout at Seigith for the next month.

Ace was hardly the only rider eager to be here – so many dragonriders had clamored for a chance to attend the Gather that Smoker and Hina finally had to sit down and make a list of who was allowed to go and who would remain behind to keep the Weyr functioning. Gathers in general were popular functions to attend, a place where craftsmen and vendors of all kinds could sell their goods and exchange information. They were also popular destinations for Harpers, gamblers, horse racers, and other purveyors of entertainment. Many Holds held at least one Gather a year, and some of the wealthier Holds would organize several Gathers annually.

The Dressrosa Gather in particular was almost legendary – the Hold only put on one every year, but they made it a massive event that attracted craftsmen and sellers from all over the world. The event lasted for three days rather than the usual single day of other Gathers, with nothing short of an unexpected Threadfall cutting the event short, and it was always capped off with a fantastic music and acrobatics show. The Gather attracted attendees from every island, and even from the mainland itself, and the chance to attend one in person was too good for most riders to pass up.

As far as Smoker was concerned, someone else could have come in his place. But both Ace and Hina had insisted he come – the brown rider because he wanted company and the Weyrwoman because she insisted it would be good for the Weyr’s relations with Dressrosa Hold for both Weyrleaders to be in attendance. And as much power and influence as Lord Doflamingo of Dressrosa held among the Lord Holders of the Grand Line, they couldn’t exactly afford to have him as an enemy.

So here he was, being tugged along from stall to stall at a Gather, trying to fight an oncoming headache. Sometimes he felt less like Ace’s lover and more like his glorified babysitter. He was certainly acting like an overgrown weyr-brat now as he dashed along, pulling the resigned Weyrleader after him.

“Let’s see what the glassblowers are doing!” Ace said excitedly. “Sometimes they have live demonstrations!”

“Slow down already,” Smoker growled, shaking his arm free of his grip. “They’re not going anywhere, you don’t have to rush.”

“Can’t help it,” Ace insisted with a boyish grin. “Too much to see, so little time!”

Smoker groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “How did I let you talk me into this again?”

Ace just smirked and strode off. The brown rider had completely disregarded Smoker’s request that he dress in a manner befitting his rank, wearing the shorts, broad-brimmed hat, and sandals that had been his usual attire in his flotilla days. The only sign that he might be anything other than a cocky young sailor was the wicked scar that slashed across the tattoo on his back, an obvious Threadscore mark that attracted more than one curious stare.

Smoker rolled his eyes and followed along at a more sedate pace, pausing every once in awhile to eye the wares at one stall or another. Perhaps it was for the best that Ace had opted to avoid his rider garb for now – there were many islands that still distrusted dragonriders, the memories of the lax and thieving riders of the past still fresh in many of their minds. It had taken years of hard work and countless diplomatic visits to regain their trust, and there was still the occasional island Hold that would turn riders away with swords and arrows. Even now, Smoker knew there were critical eyes being cast on him, wondering why the Weyrleader dared come here.

At least Ace was having a good time… not to mention their fire lizards. Jitte flitted from the top of one stall to another, a green blur at the edges of his vision, a bundle of excited energy as she chattered and bumped noses with fire lizards from all over the Grand Line territory and beyond. Striker, too, seemed to be enjoying the company of others of his kind, and followed close behind Jitte. The fire lizards all seemed to be in high spirits, and their high-pitched chittering and rabble seemed to mirror the mingled conversations of the Gather attendees around them.

 _Take your cue from Jitte and Striker, love,_ Seigith advised. _Relax and enjoy yourself._

“Oh, be quiet,” Smoker grumbled with a glance up to the Dressrosa Hold heights, where Seigith, Merath, and a number of other dragons lounged as their riders attended the Gather.

“What?” the woman in front of him squawked, whirling to glare at him.

Smoker gave her a “not you” look and nodded up at the heights. The woman, a Harper from the look of her blue uniform and the instrument strapped to her back, followed his gaze, then gave an understanding nod and continued on her way.

 _You’re wound too tightly, love,_ Seigith told him. _You know Ace brought you here in the hopes that you would enjoy yourself. Relax a little. The Weyr isn’t going to fall apart because you weren’t around for a day. Besides, if there really is a crisis, we can be back in a blink._

Grudgingly he acknowledged that the bronze was right. If something catastrophic happened at the Weyr – raiders, unscheduled Threadfall, or anything else – they could return in moments. The world wasn’t going to end because he wasn’t present at the Weyr for a day. And Ace did mean well, and wanted to share something he legitimately enjoyed with Smoker. For his sake, he supposed he could find it in himself to enjoy himself here.

Up ahead, dancing was taking place in an open area amid the stalls, with a group of Harpers providing the music. A glassblower had set up his stall on the edge of said open area, and was taking advantage of the crowd to show off his craftsmanship, giving a demonstration of his work to a group of eager children. Ace was right in the middle of them, an expression of awe on his face as the blower shaped and sculpted a mass of molten glass right before their eyes.

Smoker felt the corner of his mouth turn up slightly at the sight. He had to admit… Ace was almost adorable like this. Even if he wouldn’t admit that aloud.

 _I’m sure he already knows you think that,_ Seigith pointed out amusedly.

“No thanks to you,” Smoker murmured. “You and Merath gossip far too much for my liking sometimes.”

 _Gossip, never,_ Seigith replied. _Share information regarding our riders that we feel the other needs to know, yes._

“There’s a difference?” Smoker asked as he paused at a leatherworker’s stall, looking over a selection of gloves and belts. So long as he was here, he might as well find something useful to buy. It would leave a better impression of his Weyr if he purchased some goods from the vendors here. Even if it was only a few trinkets, it would help establish that he was nothing like the marauding, reckless dragonriders of the past.

_Not all the past dragonriders were terrible, you know._

“Enough of them were to taint things for all of us,” Smoker replied under his breath. 

Seigith gave a mental sigh but dropped the matter.

Smoker picked up a belt from among the displayed goods, casting a critical eye on it. The leather was dyed a soft blue and stamped with a wave pattern, with a silver buckle shaped like a leaping dolphin. Probably intended for a sailor or a fisherman, though it was a handsome enough piece that he was tempted…

“Shoddy work,” someone remarked behind him. “The dye’s mottled at the end, and the stamping’s uneven. You’re better off commissioning the piece from a more experienced craftsman.”

Smoker set the belt down and turned to snap at the speaker… and felt his jaw drop.

The man behind him was tall and muscular, but quite lean, with a sharp-featured face that was almost hawk-like in appearance and copper-red hair that hung down the back of his neck slightly. He wore a jacket, pants, elbow-length gloves, and knee-length boots, all of flawlessly-dyed black leather, and a black bicorn with a flotilla symbol embossed in gold on the side sat slightly askew on his head. A black mask framed his sea-blue eyes, and his jacket hung open to reveal a chest bearing a large X tattoo… a tattoo distorted on the left side by a tangle of twisting Threadscore scars. Another scar marked his chin, though this one was far newer and looked to be made by a blade rather than Thread. The deepest scars, however, were in his eyes – they looked, for lack of a better word, haunted, bearing an ache that would never fade.

Smoker shut his mouth, but he still couldn’t seem to form the words. It had been so long…

If the man was at all surprised to see the Weyrleader, he didn’t show it. “Hello, Smoker.”

He finally found his voice. “Hello, Drake.”

Drake nodded respectfully. “You look well. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Smoker replied. He looked his old friend up and down, marveling at how much he had changed in the past few years. “You returned to the Crafthall, I take it?”

“Briefly. Just long enough to get my bearings. I… I had changed too much to fit in among the craftsmen. I was too used to life in the Weyr. I stayed awhile, learned a bit more of the trade, and then I left, gathered a crew, and started a fleet.”

Smoker nodded slowly. The Weyr was a very different lifestyle from that of the Holds and Crafthalls, and often once someone had lived among weyrfolk for a length of time, they found it almost impossible to go back. Which made situations like Drake’s all the worse…

“You could have stopped by, you know. The Weyr is open for visitors.”

“I know.” He looked away, examining a leather jerkin hanging in the stall. “But I can’t. Not yet. You, of all people, should know why.”

Smoker cursed himself inwardly. Of course he should have known. The Weyr might always be open to Drake, but he should have stopped and realized that of course it would be too painful for him. He wasn’t an ordinary visitor, after all…

“Oi, Captain, what’s the holdup?”

Drake turned at the shout, obviously expecting one of his crewmen. It was just Ace, however, jogging up with a stupid grin on his face.

“You’re missing the show, you know,” Ace told him. “The glassblower’s making this whole set of glass dragons, they’re gorgeous! We should get a few to display in the Weyr.” He turned and regarded Drake curiously. “Who’s this? Friend of yours?”

“I see you’re still training the weyrlings to have the proper respect for their Weyrleader,” Drake noted dryly, casting a sardonic look at Smoker.

“Oh, hush,” Smoker huffed. “Drake, this is Ace, rider of brown Merath. Ace, this is Captain Drake of the Drake fleet. He runs the northern trade routes.”

“Oh, a fellow sailor,” Ace noted, and held out his hand. “I used to sail with Whitebeard.”

“Ah.” Drake nodded and shook his hand. “I’ve met him a few times, usually at Gathers. He is a good man. I take it you were Searched from among his crew?”

“Actually, it was an accident,” Ace admitted, rubbing at the back of his head. “I was an audience member representing Whitebeard’s crew, and… well, Merath found me out of the crowd. Best moment of my life… it’s like I was reborn right there. Like my life before Merath was dull and gray, and Merath… Merath was my everything.” A blissful grin crossed his face.

Smoker flinched, and kept his gaze locked on Drake. He should have warned Ace ahead of time that talk like that wasn’t acceptable in this situation, and to watch what he said. Now he could only wait and see what effect it was going to have on his old friend.

Drake’s eyes clouded briefly, but a sad smile crossed his face. “It’s an experience, isn’t it? One of the most intense ones you can ever know, right?”

Ace nodded, though he looked puzzled at the remark.

“Listen to me, boy,” Drake said roughly, clasping Ace’s shoulder in one gloved hand. His eyes shone with an intensity that made the pain in them stand out all the more brightly, and Ace squirmed uncomfortably beneath that stare, but Drake held on.

“Listen,” he repeated firmly. “You protect your Merath with all your strength, do you hear me? He IS your everything… and you’d better do your damnedest to keep him safe. Because without him, life isn’t worth living. Protect him… protect Ozarth with everything you’ve got…”

“Wait, what?” Ace pulled away, staring at him in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Who’s Ozarth?”

Drake stared back at Ace, his eyes almost wild with emotion. He looked back and forth between Smoker and Ace, then shuddered, the light in his eyes dimming as he struggled to get a grip on himself.

“I… I have to go.” And he turned and walked off as fast as he could without actually running.

“Drake, wait!” Smoker shouted, but Drake ducked into the crowd and vanished.

“I’ll get Striker to follow him,” Ace offered. “We can track him back down…”

“No,” Smoker said quickly. “Let him go. We… we touched a nerve.”

“What was up with him anyhow?” Ace gave Smoker a puzzled look. “Was it something I said?”

Smoker blew out a sigh. “Yes, it was something you said.” He motioned for Ace to follow him. “But I should have explained from the beginning… so I share some of the blame.” 

Ace walked alongside the Weyrleader, his expression questioning, but he didn’t press for an answer. He seemed to sense that this was a sensitive subject for Smoker to discuss, and was waiting for him to make the first move. Not that it made this any easier – this was an unpleasant subject, one no dragonrider wanted to face or even think about. 

Seigith’s presence nudged gently at his mind, providing gentle support. Smoker drew in a breath and finally spoke.

“Drake wasn’t always a flotilla captain,” he said finally. “He was born and raised at the Tanner Hall in Sabaody, and was an apprentice leatherworker up until he was Searched.”

Ace blinked. “So he was a dragonrider!”

Smoker nodded. “A Wingleader. Rider of bronze Ozarth. He and Seigith both came from the same queen, though they weren’t hatched in the same clutch.”

Ace had gone pale beneath his tan, making his freckles stand out starkly on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need to ask how Drake had gone from Wingleader to sailor – there was only one way a dragonrider could lose his place in the Weyr.

“How… how did he lose Ozarth?”

Smoker wanted to talk about that even less. It was a day indelibly stamped in his memory, and no amount of time would ever dull the horror of it…

***

_The watchdragon’s bugle of alarm set the entire Weyr into frenzied activity. Tools and writing instruments were dropped to the floor or on tables, meals left half-eaten or untouched, conversations abandoned mid-sentence. Riders bolted down the corridors, some still damp from the bathing rooms and others hastily pulling on riding leathers. Dragons leapt into action as well, leaving the carcasses of herdbeasts uneaten or splashing out of the Weyr lake to hurry to their personal weyrs and get harnessed for fighting._

_Smoker had been taking a rare moment of respite in the form of a chess game with Wingleader Drake when the alarm had sounded. The announcement that Thread was falling hours ahead of schedule over Alabasta had both bronze riders bolting from the table, scattering the game pieces in their haste to reach their weyrs. There would be time to puzzle out just what had caused the early Threadfall later – for now they had to clear the skies over the Hold before the Fall could reach the ground. Every moment was precious at this point._

__Ozarth says Drake volunteers to take his wing back half an hour or so, _Seigith reported even as Smoker tightened his harness and hauled himself aboard._ To catch the Fall early. __

_“Tell him I’ll have both his and his rider’s hides if he does that,” Smoker snapped, clipping the riding straps to his belt and giving them an experimental tug to be sure they would hold. “Timing it’s hard enough on a rider for a normal jump between. I won’t have an entire wing fighting at sub-par levels, by themselves, in an unexpected Fall.”_

_Seigith growled affirmatively and, as soon as he was sure his rider was secure, leapt off the weyr ledge. Drake’s Ozarth, a dark bronze dragon with a curious mottled-green pattern down his flanks, sprang from the ledge directly overhead, and Smoker caught the flash of the rider’s red hair as they settled into a glide. Drake gave Smoker an expression that could only be described as a pout before grinning a daredevil smile and pulling on his riding helmet._

_Smoker scowled back and yanked his own helmet down over his face. Drake was one of his best bronze riders and Wingleaders, but he took unnecessary risks. He wasn’t above pulling between-time hijinks to get an edge on Threadfall or even a competitive training game, and more than once he had unbuckled his riding straps to perform a dangerous leap off Ozarth’s back in order to save a fellow rider who had fallen from his own beast. One of these days he was going to get himself seriously hurt, or even killed… Smoker just hoped to delay that day as long as he could._

_Then again, taking crazy risks to get what he wanted was nothing new to Drake… and was probably the only reason he sat astride a dragon now. Born to a craftsman family in the Sabaody Crafthall, he had been expected to train in the family craft of tanning and leatherworking, eventually taking the position of Mastertanner from his aging grandfather when the time came. But Drake would have none of that – he learned the craft diligently enough but had always harbored a secret ambition to become a dragonrider. Never mind that no member of his family had ever been chosen on a Search; he was determined to defy tradition and find a place in the Weyr._

_His family had discouraged his ambition as much as they could, to the point where they tried to keep him locked in his room whenever a rider on Search stopped by the Crafthall. In the end, Drake got his revenge by picking the lock on his room’s window… and embarrassed his family by using the rider’s dragon as a means of escape, somehow coaxing him to raise his head to the level of his window and let him slide down his back. The rider, impressed by Drake’s boldness and his dragon’s willingness to help him, immediately brought him back to the Weyr as a candidate for the next Impression._

_It took three hatchings for Drake to Impress, but in the end his dream was fulfilled, and he had walked from the hatching cavern with bronze Ozarth by his side and a triumphant smile on his face. And he had proceeded to defy everyone’s expectations by becoming one of the most exemplary riders in the Weyr._

_Smoker, for his part, considered Drake a friend… but that didn’t mean he was going to let him get away with his insane stunts. And if the Wingleader didn’t want to be relegated to ferrying firestone for the next few weeks – a tedious duty normally reserved for weyrlings – he was going to behave himself and not do anything stupid this Fall._

_Seigith’s jaws pumped, loudly grinding a slab of firestone in preparation for flame._ Ready, love? __

 _“Ready.” Smoker held the coordinates for Alabasta in his mind, and Seigith took them_ between. _One… two… three heartbeats of absolute nothingness, blackness and a bone-numbing chill… then they burst out into the bright light of noon, Alabasta’s desert shimmering in the heat below and the deadly rain of Thread glittering overhead._

_Something relaxed just slightly in Smoker’s chest at the sight… but only slightly. They had beat the Fall here. The recently implemented practice of sending a dragon ahead to a hold the day of an expected Threadfall had paid off. Now the hard work began._

_At his signal the wings rose, and gouts of flame lanced through the sky to sear the deadly filaments from the sky before they could reach the ground. Seigrith released a burst of flame to scorch a particularly heavy clump dead ahead, and Smoker ducked his head as hot ash and char pelted his face and front. Thank goodness for the helmet and goggles, at least…_

__Sorry, _Seigith apologized._ This Thread is thicker than normal. __

_“Just make sure it’s burned good and proper before you throw it at me,” Smoker retorted. “Tell Ozarth and Chardrath I want Drake and Akainu’s wings to cover the lower levels, and tell Rayath and Gisenth that Kizaru and Garp are to take the mid-levels. Tell Firenth that Aokiji and I will cover the upper levels.”_

__Done, done, and done. Drake wants to know why he’s relegated to lower levels. __

_“Tell him it’s for that stunt he pulled over Water 7 and to quit complaining.”_

_Seigith rumbled in amusement but kept flying. Water 7 had been the scene of another of Drake’s midair rescues, this time abandoning his wing mid-Fall to catch Coby’s wounded Bilth after the blue dragon had hit a nasty patch of Thread. While no one could fault him for saving a dragon and his rider from plunging to certain death, Smoker had NOT been amused that Drake had pulled the rescue himself rather than sending another rider. A Wingleader did not abandon his post unless there was no other recourse._

_Soon any more thoughts along that line were driven from his head, and he fell into the usual intense routine of a Fall. He kept a watchful eye on the fighting wings, having Seigith give orders to close ranks when they drifted too far apart, to spread out when they bunched too close together. He received periodic updates from Hina as the queen’s wing moved far below to clean up anything the main wings had missed, and made a note to send at least one wing to aid the groundcrews once the skies were clear. Twice his firestone sacks emptied out entirely, and he had to signal for another sack to be tossed his way._

_Twice an earsplitting screech cut through the air, and a dragon briefly vanished between. Smoker grimly kept a tally as best he could, though it would be Seigith who would provide a full count of the injured at the end of the Fall. As careful as they tried to be, dragons and their riders were still hit by Thread all too often, and only the biting cold of_ between _could kill the stuff before it could inflict further damage. If they were lucky, damages would be reduced to wingtip burns – normally the result of a rookie mistake. If they were unlucky, a dragon could be grounded for months while he recovered… and some never fully recovered, and had to be taken off the roster permanently._

 __No major damages yet, _Seigith reported._ Garp’s Gisenth caught his wingtip, and Helmeppo’s Baranth took a wound to the thigh. They’re back in the air and fighting already. __

_“Good… let’s keep it that way.” The last Fall over Water 7 had been disastrous enough, with two Wingleaders still laid up with severe injuries and their dragons sitting idle while their riders recovered. And though Coby insisted that Bilth would be ready to fight again any day now, the Weyr’s healers were still unsure as to whether the blue’s wings would ever heal enough to let him take to the air again…_

_Another scream split the air, and Smoker glanced down just in time to see a bronze dragon disappear_ between. __

_“Seigith!”_

__Ozarth, _Seigith reported._ I don’t know how bad it is yet. Chardrath claims he and his rider didn’t see what happened. __

_Of course they wouldn’t have seen what happened, Smoker thought angrily. Akainu cared about little but his own ambitions, and had made it no secret that he wanted the Weyrleader title for himself. This wouldn’t be the first time he had caused injury to another rider through his own negligence. But Smoker could worry about that later – right now he held his breath, waiting for Ozarth to reappear, for Seigith to give him some word on their condition…_

_Ozarth burst from_ between _still screaming, almost directly over Smoker and Seigith. Smoker cursed, feeling his gut churn at the sight. His entire left side from neck to tail was scored down to the muscle, the wing so charred and pierced by Thread it looked like blackened lace. Even his eye had been hit, the multi-faceted orb mutilated and bleeding. Drake hung from the bronze’s neck, unconscious or close to it, only his riding straps keeping him from plummeting to the hot sands far below._

_Even as Smoker watched, horrified, the straps gave way, and Drake slid down the dragon’s bleeding side and fell like a stone._

_Smoker didn’t think – he ordered Seigith to dive. Seigith obeyed, angling his body down to intercept the tumbling rider. Drake hit his shoulder, and Smoker reached out to grab a handful of his riding suit and pull him over the saddle. His gut clenched at the sight of the Wingleader’s wounds – his left arm and shoulder were badly mangled, his chest marred with twisting burns, and an angry blackened streak had been seared around his eyes._

_He unclipped one of his riding straps and fastened it to Drake’s belt, securing him to Seigith’s back. Only then did he allow himself to look back up at Ozarth. Aokiji’s Firenth was doing his best to support his wounded side, and Garp’s Gisenth was winging his way upward to lend what help he could._

_Ozarth twisted his neck around to look directly at Smoker and Drake, and Smoker swore he saw a look of relief in the bronze’s uninjured eye… relief that his rider was safe. Then there was only blank space where Ozarth had been._

_An eerie, ululating keen filled the air, trembling from the throat of every dragon in the sky… the death knell. That sound hit Smoker as surely as a blow to the gut, as if someone had seized him in an iron grip and was crushing the air from his lungs. Ozarth’s wounds had been fatal, and he had vanished_ between _in his death throes._

_Another scream, one of agony and despair in the furthest extreme, ripped through the air, this one coming from the rider lying across the saddle before him. Drake thrashed wildly, clawing at Smoker, trying to throw himself over Seigith’s shoulder and to the ground far below. Smoker grabbed his wrists, fighting to keep him subdued, but Drake fought like a madman, grief and pain spurring him on._

_“Stop it!” Smoker bellowed, wrestling him into a vise-like grip. “Get a hold of yourself, Drake!”_

_“Let me go!” he howled. “Damn you! Let me go! Just let me die!”_

_Hearing those words from his friend, normally so daredevil and confident, nearly shattered Smoker’s self-control. Tears pricked at his eyes even as he held Drake all the tighter, giving Seigith the order to return to the Weyr._

_The shock of cold_ between _froze the tears on Smoker’s cheeks… and seemed to knock Drake out of his hysteria. Now he simply hung limply in Smoker’s grasp, breath wheezing in his throat, tremors wracking his Thread-scorched body. Seigith landed with a jarring thud in front of the entrance to the lower caverns, eyes whirling with shock and grief as a group of healers rushed out to collect the wounded rider._

_Smoker unclipped the riding strap and lowered Drake down into their waiting arms. Only when he was sure they had him securely did he urge Seigith skyward again, ordering him to return to Alabasta. There was no time for mourning now. Not with Thread still menacing the Hold. He would allow himself to grieve for his friend only when the skies were clear._

***

Ace stared at Smoker for a long moment, his expression troubled but sympathetic. “S-Sorry…”

Smoker shook his head. “Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. A clump of Thread got by the wings and caught Drake and Ozarth unawares is all. If anyone’s at fault, it’s Akainu for not paying attention and warning him… but what’s done is done.”

By now the two of them were sitting at a bench near the concession stalls, where Ace had treated the both of them to a fruity confection known on the mainland as “bubbly pies.” Ace had demolished one already and was working on a second, while Smoker merely picked at his. The story had left him in no mood to eat.

“What happened to Akainu? Was he punished? He’s not at the Weyr anymore, was he banished or something?”

Smoker snorted. “Died two years later. He tried to interfere in a duel at a minor hold and got a knife to the gut for his trouble. He was dead, and his dragon with him, before a healer could get there.” He took no pleasure at the bronze rider’s death, even if he felt that Akainu had been somewhat responsible for Drake’s wounds and Ozarth’s death. He believed in justice, not karma, and what had happened hadn’t truly been justice.

“What about Drake? What happened to him after that?”

“He recovered… physically.” Smoker tore a piece of crust off his pie and crumbled it in his fingers. “The healers feared he’d lose his sight, or even just give up and succumb to his wounds… but he proved to be a fighter in the end. He was given the option to… terminate himself, which is standard procedure after a rider loses a dragon, but he turned it down.”

Ace relaxed a bit at that. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose Merath… but I don’t think I could do that either.”

“Few do.” Not everyone chose to live, of course, and Smoker had said his final goodbyes to more than one rider who had chosen to follow his dragon into oblivion. But he didn’t feel like going into that right now. “Drake stayed at the Weyr until he recovered from his wounds, then up and left in the night. Only left a note saying that, now that he’d lost part of himself, he had to go find something to fill the void.”

“That’s impossible, though. I mean… you never do recover from losing your dragon, do you?”

Smoker shook his head. “It’s a wound that can never be closed. Time and a good support system can ease the pain, but never fully heal it. That’s why few riders live longer than a few years after their dragons die.”

Ace stared down at his hands, sticky with pie filling, then thoughtfully sucked his fingers clean one at a time. “What if… what if a rider tried Impressing again? Going back out on the hatching ground after losing his first dragon? Could that help?”

“That’s been tried,” Smoker said gruffly. “We tried it with a woman whose dragon died of disease not long after hatching. She suffered a psychological breakdown on the hatching ground, and in the end failed to Impress again. It hasn’t been attempted since.”

Ace was silent, reaching up to toy with the drawstring of his hat. Smoker pushed the crumbled remains of his pie away, content to let the silence be for now. All around them the chatter and laughter continued as others continued to enjoy the Gather, but it was as if the festivities flowed all around them without penetrating their bubble of solitude. After Smoker’s story, neither of them was in much of a mood for participating further in the Gather.

It was Striker who broke the silence. Ace’s bronze fire lizard touched down at the table and peered up at him, giving a plaintive croon. Ace broke into a smile and reached up to scratch his eye ridges.

“Come to cheer me up, little bugger?” he asked.

“More like he just wants attention,” Smoker replied gruffly, though Jitte flitting down to perch on his shoulder made his own mood soften a bit. The green pressed against his cheek, chirping curiously, her own thoughts pressing questioningly against his as if to ask what was the matter. 

“You know,” Ace noted, moving his hand down to scratch Striker’s back, “maybe a rider can’t replace his dragon. But maybe there can be a substitute.”

Smoker reached up to rub at Jitte’s neck, pondering Ace’s words. “If you’re referring to what I think you are… that’s been done in the past. And it seems to help. But fire lizard eggs are quite rare, and even if we could secure one, I’m not sure Drake would consent to taking one. He’s always been a stubborn one… and he may not want the reminder of what he’s lost. Especially if it hatches a bronze.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Ace countered. “Worst he can do is say no, right?”

Smoker sighed but nodded agreement. “If the Weyr gets any more eggs, we’ll consider making a gift of one to the Drake fleet. But don’t get your hopes up.”

Ace just grinned, and Smoker wondered just what the brown rider was planning. But Smoker’s agreement seemed to raise his spirits, because he promptly got to his feet and motioned for the Weyrleader to follow him.

“Join me at the horse races? They’re going to start any minute now.”

Smoker gave an exaggerated sigh and stood. “Fine. But we leave as soon as they’re over.”

Ace fired a grin over his shoulder as he strolled toward the open area that had been modified to serve as a track. “Had enough of crowds for the day, Captain?”

“Shut up.”

***

By the time the riders returned to the Weyr after the Gather, all discussion of Drake and his past had faded. And Ace, to Smoker’s surprise, didn’t bring it up again. He eventually dismissed it as the young man not wanting to think about the possibility of losing his dragon, something he couldn’t exactly blame him for. No one wanted to entertain that possibility, and the fact that Ozarth’s death had been such a freak accident only made it all the more terrible to consider.

A few weeks after the Gather Ace took advantage of a rest day to visit his brother’s Hold… and came back covered in sand and wearing what Smoker could only describe as a “shit-eating grin.” Despite all Smoker’s demands for an explanation, he wouldn’t elaborate but only said his visit with Lord Luffy had gone well. Seigith could have demanded an answer from Merath, but evidently the bronze found Ace’s silence amusing and refused to press an explanation out of the brown. 

That incident eventually faded from Smoker’s memory, however, and life settled back into its usual routine. If Ace was suddenly far more circumspect in his behavior during Threadfall, more cautious and less daring than usual, no one said anything about it. And if Smoker occasionally stopped by a certain Weyr from time to time, apologizing for disturbing its current occupant and reminiscing about the one who used to live here, no one found it in themselves to complain or question.

It was six months after the Gather when word reached Smoker’s office that a flotilla had come to dock near the Weyr, delivering tithes from Sabaody Hold… and that the captain had requested a meeting with the Weyrleader.

Smoker suspected who said captain was, and his suspicions were confirmed the moment he and Seigith sighted the ships as they angled in for a landing. There was no mistaking the insignia emblazoned on the mainsail of the lead ship – the emblem of the Drake fleet. Somehow, for reasons he could only speculate, Drake had returned home, however briefly.

Drake was already standing on the shore, and he raised a hand in greeting as Seigith settled on the beach and allowed Smoker to dismount. Smoker slapped his side amiably before heading over to greet the sailor. Drake looked a little less glum than he had at the Gather, Smoker noted, and that raised his spirits some. If the former Wingleader also seemed a little restless, shifting from foot to foot and his gaze never staying on Seigith for very long… well, he supposed that was only to be expected.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” Smoker noted, reaching out to clasp Drake’s shoulder companionably.

“The Lord Holder of Sabaody hired us to bring in a shipment,” Drake replied, returning the gesture. “I couldn’t exactly pass it up when the pay was good.”

Smoker raised an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t return.”

“I thought I couldn’t.” Drake’s eyes remained shadowed, but a hint of a smile shone in them. “But it’s been years since… since Ozarth passed. It will never stop hurting, losing him, but time has helped dull the pain some. I wanted to see if it was possible to come home, however briefly, and there was only one way to find out.”

“Well, you’ve proven you can stand on the shore of the Weyr’s island, at least,” Smoker pointed out, and Drake actually smiled a bit at that. “Think you can stand coming as far as the Weyr itself?”

“Possibly. We’ll see… you’ll understand if I turn back, won’t you?”

“Drake, you and I were friends for years. That hasn’t changed even if your status as a rider has. If you can’t make it back, I will understand… but if you choose to come with me, and visit the Weyr again, it will please me greatly.”

Drake’s smile widened, and Smoker felt a burst of pleasure at seeing some of his friend’s old bravado return to his face. “Well… nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

“That’s the spirit.” Smoker patted his shoulder. 

A high shriek cut into their conversation, and both men looked up to see a gleam of gold streak across the sky. Drake stepped back and extended an arm, letting the fire lizard alight upon his arm and fold its wings. The queen chittered irritably and paced her way to his shoulder, sounding remarkably as if she were scolding him for wandering away from her sight.

“Yes, yes, settle down, Giga,” Drake ordered, reaching up to smooth her wings down. “You don’t like it when I talk to new people. Just relax, Smoker’s a friend.”

“You found a nest, I take it?” Smoker asked, extending a friendly hand toward the little gold. Giga glared distrustfully at him, then craned her neck out to flick her tongue at his hand.

“Your rider, Ace, tracked my fleet down and presented me with a clutch,” Drake replied. “Said they were a gift from Lord Holder Luffy, and from the Grand Line Weyr.” A fond smile crossed his face as Giga nudged Smoker’s fingers, demanding a scratch. “I admit, my first impulse was to turn him down, or to turn around and sell the eggs to another captain or Holder. I didn’t want any reminders of Ozarth. But Ace convinced me otherwise. He said that perhaps having a companion around would help me.”

That explained much… and Smoker found himself both annoyed and pleased with Ace. The brat could have told him what he was up to in the first place, but the fact that he’d acted to help Drake was something he couldn’t exactly complain about. It certainly seemed to have raised the man’s spirits.

“She won’t replace Ozarth,” Smoker warned him. “The connection isn’t as deep as with a dragon.”

“I know,” Drake said softly. “But she helps. She’s a distraction and a comfort, and I’ve needed both badly.”

Smoker nodded and lowered his hand, letting Giga settle back on her perch. “Just be prepared for when she rises to mate. Even for a fire lizard, that’s an intense experience.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I’ve participated in mating flights before, remember. I think I’ll be ready.”

He really had no idea what he was in store for, and Smoker figured he should give him an in-depth explanation of what to expect. But they had a long walk back to the Weyr – he wouldn’t ask Drake to fly dragonback, and besides, Seigith had been busy wallowing in the sand while the two men had been talking, and Smoker had no desire to ride a dirty, gritty dragon back home. They would have plenty of time to discuss things on the way.

“I have weyrfolk on the way to help your men unload,” Smoker told him. “In the meantime… walk with me?”

Drake nodded, and the two men began the trek back to the Weyr. Dragons appeared in the sky overhead, ready to help ferry supplies back to the Weyr, and Smoker recognized Merath among the beasts. Doubtless Ace was looking down at them even now, and grinning smugly at what he considered a successful plot.

Let him have his moment of victory, Smoker decided. For the first time in years, Drake had come home, and for that, Ace deserved to feel proud of himself.


End file.
